


ghost

by mistyviolin



Category: Splatoon
Genre: 8 has a nightmare and 3 is there, Established Relationship, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 09:16:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15554496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistyviolin/pseuds/mistyviolin
Summary: I hate the sea but love the breeze.The sandy shore I will endureJust for that brisk, zephyrous tease.Agent 8 dreams of the sea.





	ghost

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of feelings about cephalopod kids.  
> Poem pulled from the Zekko mem cake- felt it fit.

Agent Eight feels the sunlight on his face. The ocean breeze calls to him; a luxury long forgotten. Somewhere above he hears music playing- a bold, crass melody with downbeats that gets his ink pumping and offbeats enciting anticipation.

His longest tentacle moves with the wind, and he brushes it away gently. One of the two guides from the Promised Land says something from his CQ-80 (his name, perhaps) but the horizon holds all his attention. He steps forward, closer, closer, he has to see that it's real this time, he has to feel the spray of salt against his face, and taste it; he can't be fooled again, he won't, he can't-

Agent Eight falls forward, into the ocean- he braces for the sensation of being splatted before he opens his eyes and sees he is still falling, somehow unharmed as images surround him in the sea's murky abyss. He sees Octavio, brow furrowed in disappointment. He sees his friends. He sees his family. All of them say the same thing. All of them wear the same look on their face.

You left us here. You betrayed us. 

He sees his sister. She is sickly green. Warped, discolored ink drips from her fingertips.

You let me die.

"I didn't," he mouths. He reaches out to her. "I didn't. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

She reaches back. The ocean forms a barrier between them, like glass. Their hands mirror each other, but hers starts to lose form in the ocean's current. Her gaze is haunting, black sclera that stare unblinkingly. Agent Eight finds himself unable to look away. 

She tilts her head, and though Eight knows Octolings do not have bones, there is a crunch like footsteps on broken glass. 

"Then why are you apologizing," she asks flatly, though the question is clearly rhetorical. "Why are you guilty?"

Eight pushes harder against the wall between them. He doesn't have an answer. He opens his mouth to call out her name. Water suddenly floods him, filling his mouth, choking him, and Eight awakens with a strangled cry, his arm still searching for a sister long gone.

He coughs, and blinks. Though the nightmare has already begun to fade, hot tears gather on his cheeks all the same. Eight tries to manually slow his breathing as he grips the blanket like a lifeline. With a sniff and a sigh, he rolls over on his side and looks around the room.

Agent Three is awake, wordless as he watches Eight from his recliner. Eight always thinks he looks like an old man in his chair- he has his glasses on and his tentacles down. Typically he's invested in a book or reading the paper, but Eight watches him close his book and set it on the nightstand. The room is dimly lit by Three's lamp, and Eight watches the shadow cast by the light get up and kneel by the bed.

Three rests his head on the comforter as he looks softly at Eight. His glasses have shifted a little from the motion. He gives Eight a gentle smile.

"Hey," murmurs Three. "Everything okay?"

Eight clears his throat and laughs a little on impulse. He squirms under Three's gentle scrutiny and wipes his eyes with the back of his hands. He doesn't trust his voice, so he signs instead. The motions are hard to make while he's lying down, but he's sure Three gets the gist.

(A bad dream,) he says, and pauses as he thinks of what he wants to say next. He sniffs again. (About somebody I lost.) Eight lets his hands fall. He doesn't really have the energy to elaborate. Three seems to understand and signs back.

(Do you want anything?) he asks. (I have that hot cocoa mix you like.)

Eight smiles wearily and his hands come back up. (The kind you make on the stove? The white mocha?)

Three gives a nod in response and smiles back. Eight can't help but giggle a little.

(If you don't mind,) he signs again. Three rolls his eyes and leans over to kiss Eight gently on the forehead.

"Of course I don't, dork," Three says aloud, and brushes Eight's tentacle out of his face. "I'll be in the kitchen. I'll have my phone, text if you need anything."

Eight's throat still feels full of kelp, so he simply nods back and signs (Thank you.)

Three's face softens and he signs back, (Love you too,) then of course blows a goofy kiss. Eight sticks his tongue out, but feels his face warm anyways.


End file.
